Robert Mihaly

Robert Mihaly is someone whose words speak the truth. He is a micro poet, poet, and short story writer. Follow him in Twitter @RobertMihaly1 and follow his website … https://artifiswordpresscom.wordpress.com …

December 17, 2017

ACROSS THE SKY

by artifiswords

Closeness doesn’t come
Only through proximity
Sometimes there’s none at all
Or it never feels real…
Lesson learned the hard way
But what now…
If you can’t count
On knowing the one
Beside you…
What can you know
Of one across the sky,
Of one across the sea,
Of one across the world?
All you can have is faith
That they’re true to their word
Without that…there’s nothing
I don’t want…nothing
I’ve already got the hat
And it doesn’t fit
I want the real thing

December 10, 2017

I FINALLY FOUND MY VOICE

by artifiswords

Writing was always something I did…
On occasion…only when the need arose
I heard my sister repeat many times
What someone had told her…
Everyone has at least one novel inside them
Maybe yes…maybe no…we’ll see…
But time rolls on…and time is not a friend
I’ve lived long enough to learn
Not everything you want will come to be
Too often you get none of the above
But when I sat down to write a poem
After many years avoiding them
The dam of suppressed feeling broke
Is that enough for a sustained stint
Of pounding on the keyboard?
Don’t hold your breath…
But less likely things have happened

December 3, 2017

HAVE WE BECOME CHILDREN?
by artifiswords

As children we had a tendency to want to know, long before we got there, how the story ended. And so it goes into adulthood? I’d hope not. Does it only occur to me that this attempt, horribly successful lately, to decide the ending and work to that end is the same thing? There are many examples, but one stands out. We know that one of our political parties has a limited time to be competitive in our politics, working against minorities of all races and backgrounds while those groups’ numbers rise. So their backers decided what they want to be the happy ending…for them…and demand results. That’s what we’re living with now, but with one exception. Those wealthy people with their fingers on the scale didn’t factor in an outlier…a totally unreal “reality TV” personality, actually barely able to operate a business, managing to use the language of populism to fool enough people to take the top prize. In a novel, such a character would be beyond belief. Yet, there he is.

Wouldn’t you think that only disaster would result? Well, it has…and it gets worse daily. The most perverse motivation, revenge, has taken the day, and all the good done in recent years is being undone. Though not their hero, this outlier is doing the bidding of the wealthy, even while they surely must have the deepest scorn for him. And the outlier Congress, brought to office through tricks, mirrors, and lies, again is proving that their party knows not how to govern…a fine kettle of fish.

Read what Libertarians wanted to do in 1980, and you’ll see today’s agenda. Their shopping list was endless…and totally mean-spirited. But all of it is now on the table, with the outlier party now leading the charge. Should they rename themselves the Outliar Party? The ending they have in mind for us is not pleasant, except for them. They make money, as we are marginalized. Time is of the essence for them to bring it about. But they need the help of people they intend to give the shaft to. You’d think those people would inform themselves…would wake up and see that there’s no limit to the harm that would be so willingly inflicted, even upon those who gave them power. But, as they whittle away at democracy, people are just becoming discouraged and giving up…or siding with the party wielding the blade.

If the story is already written, I fear the ending may be worse than I imagined just a short time ago. So, whatever you do, don’t tell me how it ends. I can always hope for a rewrite that way.

November 26, 2017

I’D PREFER SOME SLEEP
by artifiswords

I like good food
But I don’t live to eat
Nor to argue politics…
But these days, how
Can I avoid that?
I could say
I live for love
But where oh where
Has it gone?
Weary in body and spirit
I’d prefer some sleep
To living with the stress
Of today’s headlines…
Maybe I could hibernate?

November 19, 2017

Robert wrote this poem especially for this week’s edition … enjoy!

HOLIDAZED…NOT CONFUSED
by artifiswords

Spooky decorations
Midway through September
Then…tis the season…
One day after Halloween?
When some bemoan
The “dismissal” of Christmas
Calling it an attack on religion
I wonder what they say
When the Fa La Las begin
Fueling the buying binges
That put corporations
Finally in the black…
Seems the complaint
Is misdirected…
Their faith infected
By the worship of greed
With Black Friday
Still many days away

November 12, 2017

THE STORY OF MY LIFE
artifiswords

Have I the need or desire
To pen my autobiography?
Probably not what I’d do…
Not for any question of what
I’ve experienced or accomplished
Put bluntly…my bucket list is short
Not a question of having a life of
Checking off the boxes…and yet
Things that appear on the lists of others
Are in my rear view mirror…
Trying to lord it over others,
Never the way I rolled…instead
Modest acknowledgment
The road I chose to tread…
Still…there are times I regret
And even, for some things, resent
Finding no recognition at all…not fair
The good we do for humanity…
Why leave that to rattle around your head?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 29, 2017

Robert sent me this piece of flash fiction written for Halloween … I think you will enjoy the read!

IT HAPPENED ON HALLOWEEN

Certain I’d contacted all the new customers on my call sheet, I was headed out of the parking lot when the ring tone on my cell alerted me to an urgent call from my boss. There was another new client that he hadn’t gotten to. “I know you’re headed home, Eddie, and I realize its Halloween, but this is an important guy, and he lives near you. I’ll text you the address. And, thanks. I didn’t want him to think we aren’t interested in his business. You can let me know how it went when I see you tomorrow.” He ended the call, and in a moment, I had the address. It was near the park, off of Lake Avenue. Ok, Mr. and Mrs. Carver…here I come.

I found the house easily, a nice brick house that looked like it may have been built in the 1930’s. Parking, I headed toward the front door. It appeared to be ajar. I rang the bell again and again…no answer. A gust of wind blew the door further open. Poking my head in, I called out. “Hello? Mr. Carver? Mrs. Carver? Is anyone home? I’m Ed, from Holten Associates. Dan Spencer said you were expecting me. Hello?” There was no answer.

The heavy oak door swung completely open as I stepped inside. This is strange, I thought. Dan said they’d just called him. As I looked around, I saw a nice traditional living room, neat and clean, except that a potted plant was overturned on an expensive-looking oriental rug. Judging by the rest of the furnishings, a pair of Stickley chairs, an antique settee covered in floral brocade, and other pieces, everything smelled of money. I kept calling their names as I proceeded inward, peeking through what I guessed rightly was a swinging kitchen door. Not sure what to do, I decided on a call to Dan.

“What do ya mean, nobody’s home? I talked to Henry just before I called you.”

“Well I haven’t searched the whole house, but if something’s happened to them, the police should be here. There’s a potted plant dumped over in the living room.”

“On it!” I dialed…deciding a missing client warranted a 9-1-1 call. My kids would have to wait to go out begging for candy.

No siren announced the patrol car, but in a few minutes two officers joined me. I’d stepped outside to wait on the porch. After I quickly explained why I was there and what I’d seen, they asked me to wait outside while they checked the house. The older one was in charge. “You said their name is Carver…right?”

“Yeah.”

It seemed like an eternity passed as I heard them move through the house, calling out for the Carvers as they went from room to room. I noticed they each had kept a hand on their pistols as they’d gone in…straight out of the cop shows, I guessed, though probably it was the other way around. I hoped nobody was inside to ambush them. What would I do? Finally they emerged. “There’s nobody here, Mr. Dent. We looked in every room. The table was set, but nothing was cooking. You said they’d called your boss. Do you know anything more about Mr. and Mrs. Carver?”

I didn’t, but I told them they were acquaintances of my boss. I gave them his number and my card. They said they’d secure the house, and then try to contact a family member. “This is a strange call, Mr. Dent. It’s as if they vanished into thin air. Thank you for calling. You don’t need to stay.”

Before I turned to leave, I asked if either of them had felt like something or someone was watching them while they were in the living room. The older officer had, saying he’d had a creepy feeling when he was walking away from the portrait. “I felt the same way,” I volunteered. “But I have no idea why.”

I called Dan as I walked to my car. He got another call, and then got back on to tell me he was talking to the police. “Ok, boss. Let me know if you find out anything.”

He promised he would. But a week went by with no news from the police. According to a story in the paper, even after they brought in the crime scene investigation unit, there was no explanation…and no sign of the Carvers. Nobody noticed that on the large portrait of a distinguished man and his wife, the eyes seemed to be looking at them…and following them. In keeping with police procedure, the paper didn’t report the drops of blood that had been found on the floor beneath the portrait. Five years later, after Henry and Violet Carver had been declared legally dead, when the Carvers’ niece Emily found the portrait in the storage unit, she found a picture of death, faces pale white, with sunken cheeks and eyes staring blankly. On the floor beneath the painting…a dried pool of blood and a bloody knife.